I love the St.Louis Art Museum. My eleven year old son Joshua and I have been "regulars" ever since my daughter,Rachael,started a class at Washington University. We drop her off and head for the museum. We know the security guards and the cafe workers. We know when they move things around-"Hey, where's the Degas dancer??". They move things around a lot. We feel free to give our opinions. "I think the Chagall works better in the other room." And then we go to the coffee shop and get a muffin.
Sometimes we get to see workers unload a truck of wooden crates-art waiting to be displayed on walls that have been prepared specifically for each piece.
Plain wooden crates. What's inside I wonder. Beauty to delight my eyes? The pain of a primitive culture in transition? Beauty or ashes. Life or death. Someday our plain crates will be opened and what's inside will be revealed. The Creator will look upon us. He is preparing a place. I am reminded that it's what's inside that counts.